


The Art of Lyrium Applied to Eggs

by Cartadwarfwithaheartofgold (manka)



Series: A Lyrium Ghost and an Absolute Menace: Fenris and Reyna Hawke Stories [1]
Category: Dragon Age (Video Games), Dragon Age II
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Domestic Fluff, Easter Eggs, F/M, Fluff without Plot, Found Family, Happy Fenris (Dragon Age), Holidays, Modern Thedas, Tooth-Rotting Fluff
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-08-30
Updated: 2020-08-30
Packaged: 2021-03-06 22:02:45
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,258
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26186122
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/manka/pseuds/Cartadwarfwithaheartofgold
Summary: Hawke invites her friends over to decorate eggs for the holidays. Fenris is very, very good at it.
Relationships: Fenris/Female Hawke
Series: A Lyrium Ghost and an Absolute Menace: Fenris and Reyna Hawke Stories [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1913350
Comments: 2
Kudos: 18





	The Art of Lyrium Applied to Eggs

Hawke paused, wiping her hands on her ripped jeans and critically examining the long dining room table they never ate at. After all, there was nothing sadder than her and Bethany eating there alone. Maker knew what mom had been thinking before…

But if she thought about mom, this whole thing would be ruined before it started, and Hawke _promised_ herself she’d give everyone this one perfect holiday. She could do that, after all. If anyone could, surely the bloody Champion of Kirkwall could. 

Tiny porcelain bowls lined the table, each with a different shade of liquid glimmering inside in different jeweled tones. Ruby. Sapphire. Gold. And, of course, her favorite. Emerald. She’d even went on an extravagant online shopping spree, shipping everything to a rather bemused Varric so as not to clue in Bethany. They had all the perfect little tools they could never afford growing up. 

Andraste, they hadn’t dyed Wintersend eggs in _years._ She’d been a teenager, dad hadn’t gotten sick yet, and Carver forgot to boil his first so when Hawke threw one at him, it created a flurry of runny yolk and egg all over both him and Bethany. Mom had been furious. Swore she wouldn’t do them again, then dad got sick and…. well, they didn’t do them. Ever again.

One perfect holiday, she thought grimly, feeling like she was marching into the Gallows to do battle with Orsino and Meredith. One _perfect_ day for all of us. Is that too much to ask? 

She could hear the universe cackling, she swore she could. 

“Beth!” Hawke yelled, dancing away from her perfect set up. “Bethany! I’m ready!” 

From upstairs, she heard a TV click off. The silence suddenly felt deafening. This damn house, she thought again. She should sell it, move her and Beth into an apartment in the arts district next to Varric and be done with it. 

But she couldn’t. It was mom’s girlhood home. All they had left her. 

“BETHANY!” Hawke hollered, louder, into the void. 

The void yelled back, annoyed. “REYNA!” 

Bethany appeared with an annoyed twitch of her long floral pint skirt, bangles clinking on her wrists while she descended the stairs. “Why are you like this?” She asked, soft-spoken and gentle, momentary lapse of decorum gone.

Because silence was the abyss, and Hawke spent enough time staring into the abyss in her head thank you very much. Hawke lunged forward, pulling Bethany the rest of the way down the steps, tugging her through the gallery. “Come on!” 

“Reyna!” 

She felt magic twitching at Bethany’s fingertips and tutted. “Don’t you dare. I promised myself I wouldn’t light anyone on fire today and it’s only noon.” 

“I admire your restraint as always.” Bethany muttered, mutinous, at Hawke’s back. But then Hawke pulled her into the dining room and stopped, whirling to present her elaborate set up with a bow and a flourish. 

Beth’s mouth formed a perfect, tiny o of surprise. Then her lashes fluttered and Bethany stepped past Hawke, her fingers tracing the table, staring in wonder at the tiny bowls, the golden tongs, the tiny little shelves on which to dry their masterpieces. Stickers and crayons, markers and glitter. 

“Just like when we were little.” Bethany murmured. “Except… well, this must be how rich people do it.” 

“I’ve boiled so many eggs. I didn’t even use magic, I swear.” Hawke promised. 

Bethany grinned, looking over her shoulder. “Cause you blew some of them up accidentally?” She guessed. 

“About a dozen.” Hawke admitted breezily. “But I cleaned up the mess.” 

Bethany shook her head, smiling, crossing her arms around her torso. “And we’re all going to sit here and dye them? Like we’re kids?” 

“Yes.” Hawke heard the doorbell and grinned. “But with booze. That’s Varric with the entire contents of the nearest liquor store.” 

“Maker, this will be horrible.” Bethany’s smile grew even wider. 

Yes, Hawke thought with smug satisfaction. It would. She couldn’t _wait._

* * *

It began going south the minute Isabela spilled an entire bowl of dye on her white shirt and whipped it off without an ounce of shame. Sebastian’s neck grew redder, but he remained in his seat, eyes firmly on his neat little row of eggs. Bethany, of course, had lost interest like she had so often as a child. She was watching everyone else, grinning, her third hard cider half gone and her head lolling on Choir Boy’s shoulder. 

Varric didn’t even touch his, donating them to Merrill instead, who painted them a mishmash of cheery, clashing colors. Isabela took one and painted chest hair on it, then called it the paragegg. She then made one with rather obscene circles representing tits and said it was a self-portrait. 

Aveline, of course, had hers lined up in a neat row like soldiers. And fucking Anders didn’t even show. Again. So Hawke would be going down to kick his ass at the next available opportunity. 

But it was Fenris that surprised her most. He worked silently at the end of the table, glass of pinot noir beside him. He’d scoffed at Hawke’s initial explanation of the game, but when she looked to see how he’d done…

His eggs were _beautiful_. Tiny little masterpieces crafted with exquisite attention to detail. Shades of pastels, yellows and oranges, blues and violets. Swirled together to look like galaxies, like fire. 

“Oh Fen…” She dropped in the chair beside him, breathlessly inspecting his finished beauties. “These are perfect.” 

Years ago, he would have thought she was mocking him. Would have snapped and snarled like a wounded creature. But now, he simply quirked his lips in half a smile and leaned back, examining his work with an air of quiet satisfaction. 

“Have you taken Isabela up on her art classes?” Hawke asked, wiggling her brows. 

“As intriguing as it would be to watch Isabela sit still…” 

“And naked!” Bela squawked, flicking dye at Bethany. 

“Rivaini, you’re always naked.” Varric pointed out. 

“I have not attended her art classes.” Fenris finished dryly. 

“Maybe you should.” Hawke peered at the delicate creations, smiling in wonder. “I’m jealous.” 

“Which is your favorite?” Fenris asked, sweeping his hand over his creations. Hawke examined each one closely before reaching out and tapping her nail against the brightest pastel blue egg she’d ever seen, swirled with intricate designs that reminded her of constellations.

“This one.” She declared. “Clear winner.” 

“It is mine as well.” Fenris admitted in that low whisky caramel voice of his. “It is nearly the same color as your eyes.” 

Well. There went her underwear across the room. Without thinking, she quickly pressed her lips against his cheek, cupping his chin in her hand. “Stay tonight?” She whispered against his skin, heart throbbing in her chest. 

It still felt so new to have him turn into her touch, so precious and wonderful, his emerald eyes glowing and smile sweet. “If you wish, Hawke. You need only ask.” 

The words ‘stay forever’ danced on her lips, but she didn’t say them. Not yet. 

“We need more booze!” Isabela shouted, slamming her empty on the table. Hawke rolled her eyes and stood, gently laying her hand over Fenris’s shoulder. 

For a second, colors swirled in her head. She heard the tinkling of children’s laughter. Chubby hands pounding piano keys discordantly. Fenris’s strong fingers guiding smaller ones to lower an egg into the dye.

 _Perfect._ It would be perfect. 

“Hawke?” Fenris asked, staring into her face. 

She blinked and shook her head, beaming, before she lied. “It was nothing. I’ll be right back.” 

Nothing. 

_Everything._


End file.
